


Make Them Boys Go Crazy

by hobotang



Series: The College Gymnastics AU [2]
Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: (but only a tiny bit), Alternate Universe - College/University, Coach/Player Relationship, Come Eating, Cuckolding, Dirty Talk, Face Slapping, Gee hardly makes an appearance but he gets a mention anyway, Gym Sex, M/M, Rough Sex, Scratching, Threesome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-21
Updated: 2017-08-02
Packaged: 2018-12-05 00:38:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11566698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hobotang/pseuds/hobotang
Summary: A sort-of sequel to My Body Stay Vicious, in which we explore what happens when Ethan is rewarded, rather than punished. Put simply, Tyler fucks Ethan over a pommel horse, and Mark cleans up afterwards.Title is from "Fergalicious" by Fergie.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was inspired by a few asks to @tythan on tumblr, specifically [this one](https://tythan.tumblr.com/post/159095866029/or-fucking-ty-literally-fucking-eth-up-against-a), and another anon's suggestion to involve a pommel horse (which I failed in the first fic, so thank God for sequels!)
> 
> I'll add the relevant tags when the rest of the story happens. As usual, I'm posting the first bit to give myself incentive to actually finish the bloody thing.

Ethan can feel his pulse in his temples, can feel the sweat dripping down his forehead, his chin, his neck, his shoulders. He can feel it on his back, trailing in rivulets towards his stomach, tickling as it snakes over his ribs. He’s shaking all over, every muscle engaged to keep himself in this position. It’s almost too much. It’s been almost too much basically since he began, almost five minutes ago, but now it’s _really_ too much. His body hurts, down to the bones, and he’s staring daggers into his fists, entwined and clenched in front of him, trying desperately to think of anything but how much his body hurts.

“One minute left.”

The voice comes from above his head, he’s not sure where. It doesn’t matter where, because all that matters is not dipping. Not falling. His back is aching, the pressure of keeping his torso straight pushing vertebrae against each other, the same problem he always has with a plank. His teeth are grinding, the way his dentist warned him against, the way that makes his head hurt, but it’s okay because then he can focus on his head and not the rest of his aching body. When the voice says, “Thirty seconds,” it makes his temples pound, but he can see the end. Thirty seconds – that’s easy.

He can do this.

When the voice says, “And that’s time,” Ethan’s muscles finally succumb, finally give out. He flops face-first on the mat, rearranges his arms so they’re held out to his sides, crucifixion style, and just lays there. His bare front is uncomfortable on the plastic-covered mat, and he can feel his sweaty stomach sliding a little against the surface with every breath he takes, but it’s not gross enough to make him move. He doesn’t think he’ll ever move again – maybe he’ll just live here, now. It’s a comforting thought.

But it doesn’t last long.

“Get up.”

The voice is dark, like it always is. Dark and smooth, like black coffee. It sends shivers through Ethan’s prone body, makes him ignore his protesting muscles and push himself to his feet. He grimaces at the sweaty imprint he’s left on the mat, feels his nipples peak at the fresh air, cold in comparison. He sees the way Mark’s eyes follow his body as he swipes a hand through his damp hair, wipes through the sweat on his forehead. He smirks at how Mark’s eyes keep following when he wipes his hand off on his tights, and end up staring at his crotch. He’s not hard, not even halfway, but the tights are basically a spotlight for his dick. That’s not why he wears them – they’re ideal for gymnastics, and are standard uniform for their troupe – but it’s a fun pastime to count how many times Mark and Tyler look at his dick during training. Today, the count is higher than usual. Ethan has a feeling he’d be staying behind after everyone else left.

He wasn’t the only one who’d been subjected to the dreaded plank. Half the squad are clambering to their feet beside him, with expressions varying from annoyance to murderous rage. Mark smiles, because he always does – the man’s a fucking sadist, he feeds off their anger, he _loves_ making them hate him – and tells them to go home. Nobody argues; most of them have had exams today, were already tired before training started, so everyone relishes the idea of showering and crashing on the couch.

Everyone except Ethan, that is. Ethan is thinking about how many times he’s had his dick stared at today, and the fact that it means attention. Whether it’s good attention or bad attention is irrelevant; Ethan’s been stuck in exams, or stuck in his room studying for exams, for the past three weeks, during which time his dick hasn’t had so much as a furtive fondle in the shower.

Ethan’s finally finished his exams, and turned in his last essay two nights ago, so he’s ready for his dick to be touched by someone other than himself. Many times, hopefully.

“Nestor. Hang back a minute.”

He gets an eyebrow from Gee, his fellow squad member and classmate from their From Silent to Sound Cinema course. Gee knows what they get up to after training, had seen the smattering of hickeys on Ethan’s neck from last time (and the matching markings on Mark and Tyler) and done the maths. After a quick debrief to make sure Ethan was being safe, and wasn’t being coerced into anything, it had become Gee’s favourite joke.

Ethan gives Gee a cheeky smile, nudges him with his hip as he exits. Leaving just Ethan, Tyler, and Mark in the gym.

"Good work today, Ethan," comes Tyler's voice, not as deep as Mark's, but no less syrupy. "I think you've earned a reward. And I think  _you_ ," he continues, turning towards Mark now, "were enjoying making the squad's lives hell a little too much today. That wasn't very nice of you."

Mark shrugs, not bothering to deny it.

"So I'd say you're in for a taste of your own medicine." Tyler's voice is light, like he's barely holding back a giggle. "What do you say, Ethan?"

Ethan grins, eyeing Mark up and down before facing Tyler again.

"I think Coach Fishbach needs a lesson in good manners."

The contrast between the devilish grin on Tyler's face and the nervous grimace on Mark's is worth every second of that plank, thinks Ethan.


	2. Chapter 2

Tyler tells Ethan to go lower the horse, and Ethan does. _The horse_ means the pommel horse, which is set up more or less in the centre of the gym, currently standing at around elbow-height on Ethan. He loosens the cogs on each upright, lowering them gently until the saddle sits parallel with his hips. Then he tightens the cogs again, tests it out with a quick handstand on the pommels, and nods.

They’ve done this before, Ethan knows how it goes; he’s bent over the saddle, usually on his front, sometimes on his back, with Mark and Tyler at either end. He’s not quite sure how this is a punishment for Mark, but he’s sure Tyler has a plan.

For all Tyler’s niceties, he _always_ has a plan.

The man in question makes his way over to the horse now, and Mark follows obediently. Ethan leans back on the horse, enjoying the chastised, subservient look on Mark’s face, and he moans loudly when Tyler leans into him, pressing their bodies together, and bites at his neck. He locks eyes with Mark, noting that the man is standing well back, and has his arms crossed. Ethan moans again, raises an eyebrow, and smiles when Mark gives a full-body shudder.

“Fuck, Coach, that feels so good.”

Tyler grins against his neck, licking at his own bite mark as a reward. Tyler loves being called Coach, has a soft spot for this particular brand of dirty, frowned-upon relationship. He presses his hips harder against Ethan’s, grinding gently. He can hear Mark breathing heavily behind them, and knows, even though he can’t see him, that the man’s mouth will be hanging half-open, his eyes hooded. Tyler smirks when Ethan moans again, his voice soft as velvet when he states, “I love it when you bite me hard, Coach, makes me feel so dirty” – the kid is playing it up to torture Mark.

Fuck, that’s hot.

Tyler disentangles himself from Ethan, and turns to face Mark. He looks just as Tyler had expected him to, but he’s being more obedient – his arms are crossed over his chest, not even close to his dick, which Tyler can see is already getting hard in his shorts. He grins cruelly, cocking his head to beckon Mark over.

“No need to stay so far away, Fishbach. Besides, someone needs to help us get ready.”

Mark’s eyes widen at the same time as Ethan lets out a punched-out groan, and Tyler chuckles.

“Start with Ethan. Make it look good.”

There’s really no room for interpretation there – besides the fact that Tyler used Ethan’s first name, which hits him like a punch in the gut, like he knows it was meant to – so Mark slowly peels Ethan’s tights off. He’s already hard, and his breath catches when Mark’s breath ghosts over his cock, but Mark had been given his instructions by Tyler while Ethan was fixing the horse. The gist was, essentially, _you get him wet and open, and you don’t touch his dick_.

So with a forlorn sigh, Mark grabs Ethan’s hips and spins him around, bending him forward with a hand at his spine. It doesn’t help how turned on he is to think about how _responsive_ Ethan’s body is, how he always does what they want with a single touch.

He can see Tyler out of the corner of his eye, a hand rubbing over his crotch as he watches Mark spread Ethan open and lick a wet stripe over his hole. The boy keens, practically folding himself over the saddle to give Mark more room to move, more room to make his body sing. Ethan tastes like sweat, and he the way he smells makes Mark’s mouth flood. Mark loves the way he and Tyler smell after working out, or training, the almost primal scent.

He works his tongue into Ethan’s hole emphatically, dragging his wet thumb over when he’s using his mouth to kiss and bite at Ethan’s cheeks. He works it in gently, aware that he’s only using spit at the moment, but the way Ethan whines tells him it’s not too much. He licks around Ethan’s hole as his thumb keeps inching in, tries to put on as much of a show for Tyler as he can, and to make it feel as good for Ethan as possible. He’s drooling everywhere, smearing spit all over his own hand and mouth, and all over Ethan’s hole, but he finds it hard to care when all he can hear from Ethan are moans of “more,” and, “fuck, Mark, feels so good.”

He keeps working his thumb in and out when he pulls back, grabbing the lube Tyler offers him with his free hand. Ethan groans when he pulls his thumb away, then moans twice as loud when Mark returns with a slicked-up finger. It doesn’t take long to get him opened up, with how relaxed and eager Ethan is. Mark revels in the noises the boy makes, the little grunts and mewls that he can’t help but let out, the ones he can’ keep under control because Mark’s making him feel so good. Soon enough Mark’s got three fingers inside him, and he’s moaning wantonly with pleasure. Mark’s so distracted by the delicious sounds Ethan’s making, by the feel of his hot, tight hole, that he doesn’t register Tyler coming over to him until he’s right there, his hard cock out and jutting in Mark’s face. Tyler’s face is stony like always, but his voice is rough.

“Suck.”

Mark does. Enthusiastically. He takes pride in the little grunts and gasps that Tyler can’t avoid making, and in the way his hips start to buck seemingly against his will. All too soon, Tyler grabs his hair and yanks him off, smirking at the string of saliva bridging the gap between Mark’s red mouth and his own cock. He gestures to the condom and lube on the ground, and Mark has to suck most of his own spit off before he can actually get the condom over Tyler’s cock. He slicks him up quickly, getting in a few cheeky twists of his wrist before Tyler slaps his cheek lightly, as a warning.

He moves to get up, but Tyler’s hand on his shoulder stops him.

“You’re staying here. You get to watch.”

The way he says it makes it seem like an act of great benevolence. Like he’s being the kindest man in the world, being a regular Dalai fucking Lama, for allowing Mark to watch. _Watch and not touch_ is the unspoken part of that allowance, which is something they’ve done before, but they've never been this close. Mark is still close enough to reach out and touch, close enough that each slap of skin on skin and each involuntary little gasp is explosive in his ears. Tyler wastes no time getting his cock into Ethan, is gripping the pommels by his sides and using them to pound hard and fast, setting a bruising pace that Mark would 100% believe was hurting Ethan were it not for the ecstatic, incomprehensible noises the boy is making.

Ethan’s clawing at the saddle underneath him, at the pommels, at Tyler’s arms when he can reach them, at his own hair. He’s scrabbling for purchase he can’t find, desperate to grip something and feel grounded but he can’t get anything, so he’s just grasping at air because he can’t _centre_ himself. He feels out of his mind with pleasure, doesn’t even care that his hips are hitting the saddle _hard_ every time Tyler fucks into him because it feels so fucking good, it feels like every nerve in his body is electric and he’s so turned on he almost feels sick but he just wants _more_.

He’s going to have bruises like roses tomorrow, dark and expansive, and he’s getting even more turned on at the idea of it. He loves being able to push into the sore spots and remember how good they felt at the time, and he loves subtly (but not _that_ subtly) showing them off whenever he gets the chance. Maybe he’ll find someone cute at the supermarket and show off to them, reach up for something on a high shelf so his shirt rides up and they get a good view of his bruises, and they’ll know how hard he was fucked. The thought makes him arch back against Tyler, makes him beg for something, _anything_ , he doesn’t even know.

Tyler knows he’s probably going too hard, but Ethan’s body is so responsive to every move he makes and he’s never responded like this before – the boy looks like an animal trying to escape its cage, his arms are going all over the place and his body is moving in perfect rhythm with Tyler’s, trying to get away and push back at the same time. It’s intoxicating, watching the muscles of his back shift and sweat, and Tyler can’t help but reach out and _scratch_ , from neck to hip, just to watch the way his skin flares up underneath his nails. The red is stark against Ethan’s pale, creamy skin, and the way Ethan cries out euphorically at the drag of his fingernails nearly makes Tyler come right then.

Mark’s hands are clasped behind his back – it’s the only way he won’t touch himself. His fingers are interlaced, and he’s holding them together so tightly it hurts, but he needs it. Needs the pain to distract him from what’s happening in front of him, from the blissful moans and throaty grunts, from the fact that everything’s happening so close he can practically taste it. He’s harder than he’s ever been, still fully clothed, his feet are going numb from how long he’s been sitting on them, he’s sweating from how turned on he is, and he can’t keep his mouth closed because all he wants to do is breathe in their sweat, all he wants to do is to lean in and _taste_.

But he knows he can’t, because this is his punishment. His punishment for enjoying other peoples’ pain is to watch Ethan and Tyler enjoy their pleasure, and for him to have none. But even still, he’s getting _some_ enjoyment from this: from watching Ethan’s body gradually flush pink with pleasure, from watching the animalistic side of Tyler come out to play, from watching the way the two men’s bodies move and dance and interlock with one another, watching his two boys make each other feel good.

 _Very_ good, by the looks of things. Tyler’s grip on Ethan’s hips is tightening incrementally, and Ethan’s movements are getting more and more frantic, and Mark knows they’re both going to come soon. He watches the movement of their bodies, admiring how Tyler’s thigh muscles bunch up and release, how Ethan’s biceps stand out when he grips tight on the pommels. Ethan gets more and more vocal as he reaches his climax, going from mildly eloquent dirty talk to incoherent, breathless gasps as his face screws up and he comes hard, splattering jizz across the plastic mat underneath the pommel horse, some hitting the bottom of the saddle too. Mark can almost _feel_ how tight he is just from watching Tyler’s face, watching how his eyes squeeze shut and his jaw hangs slack, watching how deep he buries himself inside the boy as he comes. Mark almost wishes he’d pulled out, wishes he could have seen Ethan’s back, sheer with sweat, covered in Tyler’s come.

Wishes he could have licked it off, too.

He keeps his hands clasped tight behind him as Tyler gingerly pulls out and rids himself of the condom, flinging it carelessly in Mark’s direction and just barely missing his face.

“Clean that up, would you, Fishbach?”

Mark thinks, for one horrifying moment, that he’s referring to the condom. Then he looks up, and sees Tyler gesturing to Ethan’s mess on the mat, and oh, okay. That's much more enjoyable. He shuffles over on his knees, leaning down on his elbows to get his face right next to it, being sure to catch Ethan’s eye as he licks up the mess, swallowing.

“Good boy,” Ethan murmurs tiredly, eyelids drooping and face sweaty as he reaches down to run his hand through Mark’s hair. Mark practically purrs, smiling serenely as he finishes up the last few drops. When he sits back up, Tyler steps over and swipes a finger across the underside of the pommel horse, collecting the remaining drops that didn’t reach the mat, and holds his hand out, his face unreadable as Mark sucks it clean. When he’s finished, Tyler drops his hand, wiping it on Mark’s shirt before standing up straight again.

“God, I’m tired. I think you and I should take a nap.”

He says it while holding eye contact with Mark, but Mark knows what he means. He knows that if he says, “That sounds good,” or looks hopeful in any way, he’ll just be laughed at, because Tyler’s talking to Ethan. So Mark stays quiet, lets Ethan reply instead. The two start walking away, holding hands, Ethan still butt naked holding his tights in his free hand. Mark lets himself admire his ass as he walks away, wondering how long Tyler’s scratches will stay on his back. He hopes it’ll be a while.

Mark stays on the ground, the taste of Ethan’s come and Tyler’s skin still on his tongue. When the other two round the corner out the door, he heaves himself to his feet, using the pommel horse as an aide while he lets the blood drain back into his lower legs. He’s just about to make a move when Tyler’s head pops back around the door, and he gestures for Mark to come with.

Mark nearly breaks an ankle when he runs to grab his stuff from the stands, aware of how embarrassing he’d look to any onlookers, running practically full-pelt with a raging boner, but he doesn’t care because it’s just them in the gym. And also because he’s definitely about to go “nap” with Tyler and Ethan, which in this context hopefully means “continue to fuck each other’s brains out.”

In Mark’s experience with these two, that’s usually what “napping” means.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this took a while to get up, I'm back at uni so my motivations are currently directed elsewhere. I have no idea why this one's so much shorter than the first part of the series, but enjoy some mild cuckolding and a vaguely fluffy ending.


End file.
